


The Interrogation Room (Landa/OFC)

by kmn1988



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Complete, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmn1988/pseuds/kmn1988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hans Landa questions an American woman as to her presence along the French-German border, but gets much more out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interrogation Room (Landa/OFC)

He watched as the Gestapo interrogated the girl. He wouldn’t normally care, or be here for that matter, but he heard through his network of informants that this woman might have a connection important to him. Neither of the people in the room noticed him standing in the doorway as they were in a heated discussion. By the look in her eyes and the frown on his face, she had said a very snarky comment. He retaliated with a hard slap across her pale cheek. She evened the score with a wad of spit on his nice clean uniform. Before it could escalate further, the Colonel stepped in.

“Thank you, officer,” the Colonel called out in German. “I can take it from here.”

The Gestapo officer tried to argue with him, but the Colonel cut him off with a look. The officer saluted and left the interrogation room.

“Bon matin, mademoiselle,” Hans Landa murmured as he picked up her hand.

“Guten morgen,” The woman replied her tone and her look showing her confusion as he gently kissed her knuckles.

“Parlez-vous français?” He asked. She merely stared at him in response. “Sprechen Sie Deutch?” (Do you speak German?)

“Ja,” she replied, her tone was cautious yet polite. (Yes.)

“Wie is Ihr Name, fraulein?” (What is your name, Miss?)

“Emma Schwartz,” she replied, gently touching her lip. “Sie befinden sich Oberst Landa, richtig?” (You are Colonel Landa, correct?)

“You’ve heard of me,” He smiled.

“Ich spreche kein Englisch,” she said with a nervous smile. (I don’t speak English.)

He patted her hand, “Of course you do. Your accent is a, what is the phrase, oh yes, a dead give-away.”

“Entschuldigen Sie mich?” she asked, becoming rather flustered. (Excuse me?)

“Your accent; it is not Austrian, for I am from Austria and I would immediately identify your region,” he said with a sly smile. “You are not from Germany either; I have traveled around Germany long enough to recognize what state you would be from.” Ever so gently, he turned her face to look at the red mark on her cheek. “I will retrieve an icepack and you will tell me where you’re from.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, “Danke schön.” (Thank you very much.)

“Bitte schön,” he replied. “I will be back in a few minutes, so walk around the room if you like. I just wouldn’t attempt to escape if I were you. You’ll be shot on sight.” As soon as he left the long yet narrow room, Emma walked around the room, trying to calm her nerves. She knew she had to get out but how? She leaned against the window frame, searching her pockets to see if she had anything on her. The idiot foot soldiers did not check her when they brought her in and everyone else assumed they did.  _A pack of matches and a pack of cigarettes,_ she thought bitterly. The room was stone and steel; she couldn't even cause a distraction if she wanted to. She racked her brain for ideas as the door opened again.

Landa entered eyeing the young woman over. From the information gathered, she was helping the Jews escape before Landa or anyone else could get to them. She was dressed well enough in a jacket and blouse that clung to her curves and a skirt that hit a little lower then mid-thigh. Her high heels elongated her legs. When she caught him staring, he pulled out his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.

“Only if you don’t mind if I do,” she replied, holding up her pack of cigarettes.

He raised an eyebrow, “You’re American, then.”

“Clearly,” she retorted as she walked back over for the pack of ice.

“May I ask what you are doing on the border of France and Germany?”

“Of course you can,” she said, pausing to take a drag. “It doesn't mean that I have to answer.”

“Fraulein Schwartz,” He said calmly, though his eyes showed a hint of danger and annoyance. “I suggest you do not try my patience. You were dealing with the Gestapo before, but now you are dealing with the might of the SS.”

She turned away with a smirk playing on her pink lips. “Do you really think I’m scared of the Jew Hunter?”

“Not if you care about leaving alive,” he replied, leaning against the table. There was a momentary look of panic on her features and his smile let her know that he saw it.

She straightened up, “May I have the ice pack please?”

“Of course, fraulein,” he eyed her chest as her breaths started to deepen. He stood up and sat across from her, “If you answer a few of my questions, then you are free to go.”

“To Auschwitz maybe,” She scoffed, taking another drag and setting the pack on the table.

He smiled nicely as he sat down, “No, not to Auschwitz.”

“To a breeding camp then?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. He seemed a bit shocked at her statement. “Excuse me?”

“I fit the Aryan description,” she replied with a shrug. “Blonde hair, fair-skinned and light eyes; I’m almost the prefect Aryan woman.” She added with a flutter of her eyelashes.

Landa raised his eyebrows. “Almost?”

“I have a problem with being barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen for the rest of my life,” Emma replied with a tight smile.

Landa smiled charmingly and laughed a bit at the comment. “Where did you get a notion such as that?”

Extinguishing her cigarette, she shrugged, “It’s amazing what the Gestapo tell you when they think you’re one of them.”

“Apparently, some people in the Gestapo are not as perceptive as they think they are,” Landa glanced up as he scribbled some notes. Puffing on his pipe, he leaned back in his chair, “I must commend you on your accent though, fraulein. It sounds very authentic.” He tilted his head to the side. “Where did you learn German so fluently?”

“My maternal grandmother was Austrian and my maternal grandfather was German; they emigrated right before the start of the First World War.”

“Your father’s side?”

“Russian,” she answered, raising her eyebrows. “Why do you care?”

“It is the job of the SS to know everything,” he said with a smile. “I would like to ask you a few questions, if you would not mind.”

Her posture showed that she was quickly becoming more closed off. “It depends on the subject. I may or may not cooperate.”

“How are the people of Germanic heritage treated in America?”

She shrugged, “It depends where you go. Some states have concentration camps…oops, I mean “internment” camps…for the people of German heritage while others just don’t like it when they gather in larger communities. It’s worse for the Japanese of course.”

“You said your father is from Russia, yes?”

She shook her head, “No, I said my father is of Russian heritage. He, like my mother, was born on American soil.”

“Do you not use your father’s last name?” He rose to pace the room.

 “No,” she replied as eyeing him suspiciously, “I do not use my father’s last name while I am over here because of the Communists. The Jews and French and German resistance trust Russians about as much as they trust Nazis. So, I’ve taken my mother’s maiden name.”

He nodded in understanding, “What is your correct surname?”

“As if I’m going to tell you,” she scoffed. “If your SS is so high, mighty, and omnipotent, then you can figure it out yourself.”

Stopping behind her, he placed his broad hands on her shoulders. “Once again, m’dear, your tongue is standing between you and your freedom.”

“It’s what happens when one refuses to divulge things about her country,” she coolly replied, attempting to shrug off his hands.

He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “Now, Fraulein, I haven’t asked you anything to do with your national security. I was just asking about the German people in your country. That is all.” “You said your grandfather was German, correct? Was he from Bavaria? Your Deutche accent hints of Bavaria and Vienna, Austria.” He walked around and sat in front of her again.

She shrugged. “I honestly couldn't tell you.” The look in his eyes showed his suspicion in her answer. She sighed and continued. “All I know is that my grandfather’s brother owned a very large farm somewhere that was inherited by his oldest son. That is until the Nazis,” she paused, “removed him and the rest of the family from the farm. Isn’t that what you all call it when you steal someone’s land? As far as my grandmother is concerned, I believe she came from Vienna but I’m not sure.” She stood up and sauntered over to the window, where her cigarette pack and lighter were. She lit up another cigarette with the hopes it calm her nerves. Emma was nervous not only because of this man and his reputation, but she was becoming surer by the minute that she would end up as a POW or worse. Blowing smoke out of the barred window, she watched as he scribbled some notes down.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

She shrugged, “Politeness. I think it is rude to pollute someone else’s air with cigarette smoke.” She held her cigarette between her lips as she shrugged off her suit jacket. Landa’s eyes raked over her body, appreciating her delicate curves. He knew he was becoming more sexually attracted to the American woman. She did not fawn herself over him as the French and German women did and though she was not particularly voluptuous, her breasts were perky, her stomach reasonably flat without looking like she purposely starved herself, and her bottom was firm, round, and yet not too large.

Emma knew he was eyeing her over and yet she didn’t mind all that much. She would mind far less if it weren’t for the fact he was a _Nazi_ and a _murderer_ of the Jews. _Now if there was only a way to get out of this_ , she pondered as she set her jacket on the table.

“What are you doing on the German-French border?” he asked, breaking the silence. She extinguished her cigarette and leaned against the wall across from him. “What am I being accused of?”

“Helping the Jews escape France, fraulein,” he replied, his smile challenging.

A tight smile slid across her lips, “Please don’t call me that.”

Though he seemed surprised, they both knew it was an act, her body posture changed every time he called her ‘fraulein’. “Why not?”

“You’re calling me ‘girl’,” she replied, her tone and temper even. “Last time I checked I was a grown woman. Then again, I do believe that the Nazis wouldn’t accuse a _girl_ of helping Jews escape.”

“In my country, ‘Fraulein’ is what one would call an unmarried woman; ‘mädchen’ is German for girl. I was merely being polite.”

“You’ve been extremely polite, which I’ve been grateful for,” she replied with a nod of appreciation. “However, to me that translates to ‘girl’ or ‘little woman’, the way you’re using it. It could be construed as condescending.” Another smirk spread across her rosy lips. “I think you calling me ‘fraulein’ is just part of your cat-and-mouse game.”

He chuckled, “My cat and mouse game, Fraulein Schwartz?”

“You are the cat and I am the mouse,” She leaned towards him. “You bat me around a bit, figuratively speaking, then you let me escape, only to catch and bat me around again. I am not thick, Herr Colonel. You are waiting for me to slip up.”

The amusement he felt showed on his handsome features. “How do I ‘let you go’, as you put it?”

“You change the subject sporadically. I believe you’re trying to catch me off guard, hoping I will slip something,” She replied.

Landa shrugged, “You are very perceptive, my little American. Am I going to get answers to any of my questions?”

“It depends,” she replied as he stood, eyeing him over. He had at least a good five inches on her and she was in two inch heels. “Will I be guaranteed freedom?” she asked as she took her hair out of its tight bun; it fell around her face in loose curls. It had been falling out over the course of the last few minutes and she knew she was going to be distracted by it. Or show her nervousness if she played with the loose hair. He stood in front of her and delicately ran a finger over the red mark on her cheek.

“How is your cheek feeling?” He asked. His body was mere inches away from hers and his touch ran shivers up and down her spine. _Control yourself, Emma!_ Her mind snapped as she replied, “Better, thank you. You do realize that I am not going to give up anything I know about my country just so you can let me go. Or of that group that’s running around killing Nazis.”

“You’re referring to the Basterds.” He turned and started walking back towards the steel table. “If you wish not to divulge any information, that is your decision, fraulein. I do not think you’re going to be granted the freedom you wish, though.”

“I have a proposition for you,” she said, making him pause and turn around.

Landa raised his eyebrows. “What would that be?”

“Sex for my freedom,” she replied with raised eyebrows and smirk.

He countered. “Is that not prostitution?”

Emma shrugged, “You may call it prostitution; I call it my bargaining chip.”

Landa laughed, “Was du denkst, ich will Sex mit dir haben?” (What makes you think I want to have sex with you?)

“Because I am a fairly attractive young woman who enjoys sex and isn’t throwing her at you. I’m sure that with the German and French women who want to sleep with someone in such a so-called powerful position as yours, you’re knee-high in wet cunts. Of course, I’m sure those wet cunts have also seen their way around the Nazi barracks and are as loose as anything. I’m also sure having sex missionary-style, over and over again, has become boring for you. How many of your soldiers can say that they had willing sex with an American that despises their job and everything they represent?”

Within two or three strides, he was mere centimeters away from her. “I could take you willing or not, Fraulein.”

“And yet you don’t,” she replied, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel his breath on her skin and the heat from his body and it was actually turning her on. He had the power and she knew it. “You are a bit more merciful compared to some of your counterparts. That’s the reason you execute Jews on the spot instead of sending them to camps. Though being shot to death is painful, I’m sure, unless one is hit in such a way that death is immediate. In the camps, they are tortured, starved, and eventually gassed. You would never take a woman who was not willing. I don’t think you’re _that_ much of a monster.”

“Do not pretend to know me, Fraulein,” he growled from deep in his chest as he pushed her against the wall. She could feel his erection start to rise against her thigh.

“I bet all of the women you’ve had have never offered to fuck you against the wall, Herr Colonel,” she huskily replied. His lack of response told her that she was right. She smiled and continued. “I bet none of the women you’ve had can suck your dick like an American can.”

“I am not a fan of fast women, Fraulein Emma,” he growled again.

She tilted her head up to look him in the eye. Her lips barely brushed against his as she spoke, “I’m not fast at all; I prefer taking my time in every aspect of sex,” she paused, “Hans.” He had to have her, right then and there. His mouth quickly possessed hers in a controlling, passionate kiss. He pinned her against the wall using his body. She let out a pleasurable moan as his growing erection moved against her. Emma shivered as he ran his tongue against hers. His taste was almost intoxicating, a mixture of the flavorful pipe he was just smoking and something distinctly him. She started to undo his tie, jacket, and shirt quickly; if she was going to fuck a Nazi, she was definitely not going to fuck him in uniform. Though his tie was carelessly discarded on the floor, he stripped off his jacket and shirt and neatly placed them on the chair behind him. Her eyes gazed over his muscular upper body; he was not muscles upon muscles, but he was not scrawny either. He was almost at the prefect level of fitness; it was hard to tell how defined the rest of him was with his black pants still on. He kissed her again, this time a bit more gently but just as passionate. Her hands ran down his washboard abs on her way to his pants and she became somewhat jealous. None of the American men she had been with were this fit. They were not overweight, nor were they scrawny, but they definitely didn’t have such defined abs or arms. As her hands slowly undid his belt and pants, she could see the impatience in his eyes though his face didn’t show it. That would have been rude and ungentlemanly. As she pushed his pants down, she couldn’t help but smile a bit. The Colonel was a boxer-briefs man. _Who knew?_ She thought as she hiked up her skirt to kneel down. _I had him pictured as a tighty-whitey man_.

When she first started working the tip of his semi-erect penis, it was good but nothing new to him. French women who fawned over him would do the exact same thing. Then she started to deep-throat and he did everything in his power not to grab her gorgeous head of hair. Instead he muttered, “Mein Gott”, as he dug his nails into his palms. Though he was nowhere near climax, he abruptly pulled out and helped her to her feet. Before a word could pass from those reddish pink lips, his mouth was claiming hers in a hard, fervent kiss as his hands worked to undress her as quickly as possible. He wanted nothing more right now but to see the gorgeous body that her clothes were hiding. He undid her skirt and she kicked it to the side. He raised an eyebrow at her undergarments: thigh-highs with garters and panties that were smaller than anything he’s seen before. Hans very much enjoyed how she look, standing in her heels and lingerie; his ever growing erection let her know he enjoyed what he was viewing as he started to kiss her again.

Emma was very impressed by his overall physique, Nazi or not. Out of the Nazis walking around the base, he was the most charming and the handsomest, by far. If she had to fuck her way to freedom, she was glad it was with him. She let out the softest of moans as one of his skilled hands started to work her clit. _The man_ knows _how to pleasure a woman_ , she thought as he touched and teased the area between her legs. Spreading her legs, he began to grind his bulge against her as he unbuttoned her blouse. His hand snaked under the cloth, brushing one of her nipples, as he started kissing her again. With a flick of his wrist, the clasp of her bra was undone.

“Very impressive, especially for a Nazi,” she murmured against his lips. “The men in my past have usually taken a good half-minute.”

“Clearly, they were all boys and not men, fraulein,” he replied as his other hand found her clit again through her panties. She let out a throaty moan and let her head rest against the wall.

“I hate that you call me that,” she panted as he kissed his way down her neck, breasts, and abdomen, slidding her panties down. He glanced up to see a look of skepticism and curiosity on her face. A flick of his finger in just the right spot caused her knees to buckle slightly, giving him plenty of access to her sweet cunt. As his tongue flicked her clit in all different directions, his hands kept her in place against the wall. If he didn’t, she would have surely collapsed. He slowly worked to fingers into her moistness, enjoying the pants and moans from her. He knew she was coming close to her first orgasm when her pants and moans became more rapid. He thrust three of his fingers in and out of her as she started to climax. He paused to feel her climax around his fingers as he kissed, sucked, and nipped his way up her soft body.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” she panted when they were face to face again. “But I just want to fuck right now.”

“Patience fraulein,” he said, rubbing her juices onto his boxers.

She whimpered, “Please, Landa.” _God, if this man fucked as good as he fingered_ , her thoughts trailed away. One hand started working her clit again as the other tugged at his boxers. “What was that, fraulein?” She melted against him as she started to climax again. _God, he has magic fingers!_

“Bitte, Herr Colonel,” she purred as she felt his hand disappear from between her legs. Smirking he grabbed her by the waist and held her against the wall.

“Are you sure about this, Fraulein?” he asked looking her in the eye. “I will stop if you want me to.”

She shook her head fervently, causing him to smirk wider. She wrapped her legs around his waist as his body pinned hers flat against the wall. Emma dug her nails into his muscular back as he thrust his manhood into her wetness.

“Oh God, Landa,” she moaned as he initially stretched her walls.

“The little Fraulein wants the big, bad Nazi,” he teased, adjusting his position.

She glared at him, though the look was mixed with lust. “Shut up, Jew Hunter,” she moaned as he started to move in and out of her. He moved slowly at first, letting his erection rise and expand completely in her.

“Mein Gott,” she cried.

“Gut?” he asked.

“Sehr gut,” she smiled in return as he started to pound her faster and faster. She kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear as he pounded her.

He paused to readjust his position, making sure she was secure against the wall.

“Is the big, bad Jew Hunter all tired out?” She teased, panting.

He grumbled in return, “I was adjusting my position, fraulein, so I do not drop you.”

“Running out of stamina, Hans?” She smirked, batting her eyelashes.

“Hardly,” he sneered in reply. He started to pound her harder and harder, enjoying how her breasts bounced against his chest. She was moaning from under him, her nails digging deeper into his back.

“Do you want me to be gentler?” He grunted, nearing his climax. She shook her head, her pants and moans becoming higher pitched and quicker. As she reached climax again, she dug her nails into his skin and scratched his back as she moaned his last name. He climaxed with a low, primal grunt from deep in his chest. He kissed her gently before setting her down. He, then, stood back at the young American leaning against the wall, wearing nothing but stocking, garters, and heels. Her face was flustered and her hair fell around her face in messy curls.

“It is a shame, Fraulein Schwartz, that you are not on the side of the Nazis,” he casually said, a sexy smile playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” her tone full of fake apologies as she gathered her clothes. “I just despise playing for the losing side.”

“Your tongue, Fraulein,” he chided as he also started to dress again. “It is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Really?” she asked as she buttoned up her shirt. “I do believe it got me _out_ of a lot of trouble just now, Colonel. Sorry about your back, I suppose I scratched a little too hard.”

“It is alright, Fraulein,” he smiled. “It just is proof that you enjoyed it.”

She scoffed as she scooped up her jacket and one of the folders on the table. “I suppose. I could have been faking it you know. It is very easy for a woman to fake it.” He glared at her before he scooped up her panties, quickly shoving them in one of his pockets. If she stole his folder on her, then he’d keep another souvenir. “I do hope that you’ll leave the Nazi occupied territories so I do not have to interrogate you again.”

“But Colonel,” she replied with a wicked smile as she pulled her hair back into the bun. “You’ll have to catch me before you could interrogate me again.”

His arm snagged her around her waist and he pulled her close again. She feared that it was to take the folder she just snagged.

“Don’t doubt that I won’t, Fraulein,” he said. “You might slip up some time in the future and end up back here.” She let out a laugh of skepticism but didn’t say anything.

“I will have one of my men to drop you off where you were arrested,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissed the back of her hand. “Auf wiedersehen, Fraulein Schwartz, until we meet again.”

“Auf wiedersehen, Herr Colonel,” she replied.

 

Later that night, Hans Landa thumbed through his files, looking for the file about the Basterds. Rumor was that they were in the area; in his experience, rumors always had a base of truth in them. After an angry phone call to his subordinates, he knew exactly what happened to it. Somewhere on the French countryside, Emma Schwartz was having a nice little fire, burning the files on herself and the Basterds.

 


End file.
